From a Stained Heart
by TOtalBLondeCHick010
Summary: Abadon, a Breton with uncanny luck and a knack for getting herself into-and out-of trouble, somehow makes her way into an Imperial dungeon. Once she escapes, with the help of some new 'friends', she is thrust into the middle of a war to keep the gates of Oblivion closed, once and for all. I do not own the Oblivion story line or anything Elder Scrolls. Abadon belongs to me.
1. Chapter 1

**From a Stained Heart: Prologue**

I wasn't a _bad_ kid, per say. I never really _murdered_ anyone (until my twenties). I didn't believe in prostitution (for anything under twenty thousand gold coins). I was obedient nine fiftieths of the time, and unlike the other girls, I didn't do absolutely anything for attention. Attention just found me, I couldn't explain it. Like I said, I wasn't a bad kid. I only took what I needed (until it started getting really fun), and I only killed because they started it. The truth is, growing up as an orphan there isn't much to do to make ends meet- unless you wanted to live under the iron fist of suppression and rules that came with an orphanage. No, that life wasn't for me. It never had been. I was a bird; I flew on my own wings with nothing weighing me down. The only things I carried were the cloths on my back and the gold in my pockets… also, a bow, arrows, several daggers, a letter from my mum when she left me at the orphanage when I was a week old, and a perfectly aged bottle of Black Briar mead (that wasn't until _much _later). But, other than that nothing. And this is my story.

_Hammerfell_

"ABADON!" Evel yelled over the ruckus of the orphanage. They had fights before, but this was the worst. The child, well not really a child; she was thirteen, was out all night and came back completely drunk. She didn't know where she went wrong; all of the other girls were well behaved. They dressed properly, they focused on learning to sew instead of how to steal, they stayed out of fights, and not one of them had come home to the orphanage drunk before (if they had been drunk they at least had the decency to sober up before showing up on her doorstep), but Abadon had. As the mistress of the orphanage, it was Evel's responsibility to raise the children right and find them good homes, but Abadon made a mockery of that. Up until she turned ten she was the sweetest child. Now? Now Evel would be lucky if she could get the young Breton to put on a dress (she had tried before saying if she didn't wear the dress, she wouldn't be wearing anything… it was hard to get her back in her clothes after that, even harder to keep her inside while she streaked through the large shack that housed the orphans).

She ran up the stairs after the girl. "Abadon, don't you walk away while I'm still talking to you!" she said, entering the room. She was shocked to see the child was pulling her possessions from her room and throwing them into her rucksack. "What do you think you're doing?!" the Dark Elf screeched.

"Leaving," she said simply. Evel never could get over the girls unnatural voice. It sounded like a birds coo. During the Bretons time here, they, Evel and the other orphans, had been trying to determine what kind of bird, when Abadon was nine they decided she sounded like a sparrow; soft and delicate, yet not quite as shrill as a sparrows song.

"Like hell you are!" she replied. This was Evel's problem; she shot first and asked questions later.

"Salty words are lost on me, Evel, I thought we agreed on that," she was avoiding the point. Typical Abadon.

"It doesn't matter! Put your things away _this instant_!"

She tapped her chin and pretended to think, "Mmmm, how about… **no**," she continued to stuff her clothing and other belongings in the bag.

"Now, you listen to me, young lady! I-"

Abadon cut her off, "No, _you_ listen! I have been here all my life! I've been the good soldier and I'm tired of taking the orders. Nobody will _ever_ want me, so why am I still here? You've seen the note She left! Not even my own damned _mother_ wants me! All she leaves is a bloody letter and a _shirt_? How stupid is that?"

Evel remembered very clearly the day Abadon was left on her door step. It was raining and she had just settled the children down for the night, when she heard crying. It wasn't unusual for children to be dropped off in the middle of the night like that. Mothers who didn't want to be ridiculed by the town for giving up their children often did it. Other times children were taken in because their parents died in the line of duty or were taken to jail. When Evel opened up the door she saw a small baby wrapped in a blue-striped-black shirt (the shirt Abadon was referring to) and two letters resting on her chest. One was for Evel: just the child's basic information (age, birth sign, race, name), the other was for Abadon when she turned ten, if she hadn't been adopted by that time. Vaguely, it clicked in her head why this all started. Evel also noticed that the shirt in question, the blue-striped-black with short sleeves, was the same shirt that Abadon had been wearing every day since she turned ten, and was wearing right now.

"Someone will adopt you, Abbie. Just give it time," Evel pleaded, using a softer tone and the Bretons nickname to try and take the severity out of her manner.

"I've talked to nineteen families _this week_! Nineteen of these bastards have families, but not me! Even that prick, Samuel got a home and he holds younger children down and _spits_ in their faces!" She said. Evel had to admit the girl had a point. She continued, "I am tired of all the fake smiles and laughs. I'm done." She said, pulling the chair from her desk over to her tall wardrobe. She stepped up on it and grabbed something. Evel barely had time to wonder how in oblivion the girl had managed to get an obviously stolen ebony great sword in here without her notice, before it disappeared into her rucksack.

_Wait, how did she fit that in there?_ She wondered to herself before responding, "So you're just going to leave? You'll be dead in a month!" Her attempts were getting ever more pathetic—as was her chances of keeping Abadon under her care.

"Then, at least it will be a month of freedom," She skirted by Evel, hoisting her bag on to her shoulders, "A month of happiness," she amended, looking Evel in the eyes.

Among the girls characteristics none were quite as chilling as her eyes. From far away, they looked to be black or dark brown, but when you took a closer look you can see, what was mistook for brown at a distance was actually a very deep, blood red, that moved in her irises like waves washing up on a beach: constantly in motion yet perfectly still. They were unnervingly beautiful.

"I… good luck, Abadon," she said, knowing if she tried to force her to stay then the girl would resent her forever, even if it did work which the chances were slim.

Abadon smiled at her, "It's Abbie, please. And I don't need luck; I've got skill," she flashed a cocky smirk at the elderly Dark Elf and departed. Whether they would ever see each other again, Evel didn't know. But an itching in the back of her head told her great things were in that girl's future. They would just have to wait and see.

_Morrowind, four years later._

Uvek always dreamed of roaming the open seas, discovering new places and the like. He was fourteen and finally had the chance to pursue his dreams. A ship was recruiting and accepted him and a handful of other men into the fold. He boarded Retribution, the most beautiful ship to ever dock in Morrowind, and was immediately greeted by a stout man with a perceptive smile and a pair of knowledgeable, green eyes. He introduced himself as the ship's captain, Lywim. Uvek and the others followed him to the ships main deck, where the entire crew was gathered. The Imperial frowned and asked the crew, "Where's Speedy and Irmik?" the crew started snickering.

A Redguard woman about thirty or so stepped forward, grinning and pointed towards a trapdoor near the mast, "They're handling… _private _business," barely contained giggles started breaking through, "Though I doubt they'll be much longer." The crew completely burst out laughing.

As if on cue the trapdoor opened. A woman, barely older than Uvek came out, fastening her belt. Following her was a youngish Dark Elf followed her pulling on a shirt. Their hair was messed up and he had his pants on backwards. _Wonder what they did_, Uvek asked himself, knowing full well what they just did. He was standing behind an Orc, who was at least a foot taller than him, so he couldn't get a good look at either.

She turned to Dark Elf, "That was fun, but next time could you not look at me so much? It really… bothers me," She said, apparently oblivious to her audience. She had the strangest voice; it sounded like a bird, a… sparrow. She sounded like a sparrow, but the high-pitched whistling that was normally associated with the bird was lost in her tone.

"Well then, stop turning around." He responded with a smirk.

"Very classy," she rolled her eyes.

"I thought so."

"Yeah?" she asked, not really asking. She was more focused on fixing her hair.

"Ladies!" Lywim shouted.

"Ladies?" she asked incredulously, "I thought you knew I don't go that way, cap?" a new round of snickers erupted from the crew, "Well… mostly…" They busted out laughing.

One man shouted, "I'll second that!"

"Get over here, Speedy! We've got a round of fresh meat, and I told you to be present on deck when they arrived," He said.

"How'm I supposed to know when they'll get here? It's not like I'm not psychic or anything!" She strode over to him and Uvek got a perfect view of her.

She was short, thin, and muscular, with a deceivingly long body. Her tan skin was nearly the same shade as her light brown hair. She had a straight nose that accented her strong jaw well. Large, perceptive eyes swept over the bundle of recruits spryly, matching the smile she had on her thick, nude colored lips. She wore a blue shirt, belted at the waist, black pants with straps around her thighs holding a quiver of arrows, tall black-blue boots with daggers strapped to them. She had a black detached sleeve on her left arm that went all the way down to her thin fingers, with a shoulder guard clasping it to her torso. A beautiful ebony bow clung to her back, and he could tell that she was skilled with it.

"That's why you shouldn't leave in the first place!" he said.

"Well, that's no fun," she argued, childishly.

He sighed and pinched his nose, turning to address Uvek and the other recruits he said, "This is Abadon, my first mate. We call her Speedy. Ask her why, she loves telling the story." She nodded in agreement, with a silly grin on her face. The captain went on introducing the rest of the crew. He split up the recruits into four groups: two for the most experienced crew members, one for himself and one for Abadon. Uvek was in Abadon's group.

He walked over to her, "Excuse me?" He asked timidly.

"No need for the formalities, kid. Ass-kissing gets you nowhere," she smiled at him, "What's on your mind?"

Her warmness towards him encouraged him, so he asked, "Why do they call you Speedy?"

She laughed, "They call me Speedy because I'm lightning fast in the bed sheets," her nonchalant attitude about… _that_ shocked him. It must have read on his face because she laughed some more and said, "Tons of fun, too," Now she was just messing with him. He stammered, trying to find something to say in response to that. He found nothing. She looked at him, still grinning and said, "Look, kid we've got work to do and cap's already pissed at me as it is. We'll talk more later, if you're up to it; believe it or not, I am aware of my ability to leave people speechless and uncomfortable. Now, work." She walked away and he followed along with the other soon-to-be pirates.

This was going to be one exciting adventure.


	2. Chapter 2

**From a Stained Heart: Prologue (2)**

"Speedy, Cap wants to speak with you," Uvek said as he passed Abadon in a hallway. She was impressed with his progress; he'd been here for a year and was already taking charge. When she became captain she had no doubt who she was making her first mate. He was like a baby brother to her (and the only person in the crew she hadn't slept with).

"Uh-oh, m'I in trouble?" She snickered in response. He laughed and she made her way to the captain's quarters.

She knocked on the door. It swung open revealing a dark room. She walked over to a lantern and lit it, "Cap, you in here?" She asked looking around. The captain's quarters were very big; two floors and at least three rooms. But then again, Retribution was a very big ship.

She walked up the set of stairs, into the top floor of his cabin. Normally nobody, not even Abadon, is allowed into his bedchambers (That sparked rumors that he had a wild 'after hours' life, mainly brought about by Abadon), but something ominous was going on, so she made an exception. She opened the door to his room and gasped. A rancid smell met her nose, a gruesome sight met her eyes; Lywim was standing across the room up against the wall—an arrow in his eye, pinning him to the wall.

She dropped the lantern and ran to him. He was dead. Probably for an hour or so, seeing as the body was already cold and smelling. The arrow was a precise hit, right in the center of the eye. The only person in the crew that could have made that hit was… herself. To make matters worse the arrow, itself, was hers. It was a simple iron arrow (she couldn't afford to keep buying, or stealing, ebony arrows every time she ran out), but it had her name carved into it. Normally she would just think someone forged it, but Abadon created a very distinctive chicken scratch that no one on the ship could recreate. That meant somebody stole it.

As if on cue Irina, a Redguard woman in her mid thirties, came in, "Speedy, Ca—," she drew her sword when she saw the scene. Abadon was in for it now. "What did you do?" The condemnation in her voice told her that she wasn't going to believe anything she said.

That didn't mean she wasn't going to try, "It wasn't me, I'm being framed," even Abadon knew that sounded like a lie.

"How could you?" She asked shaking her head, "Help, somebody help!" She cried. Abadon heard footsteps on the stairs. Five people entered the room.

Uvek, who was one of them, asked, "What happened?" He saw the body and Abadon next to him, "You… you killed him," he whispered, disbelievingly.

"No, I didn't! Somebody's setting me up!" She didn't know why she was even attempting to defend herself; nobody was going to believe her. More people came up the stairs. I'm screwed, Abadon said to herself.

"By the Gods, you killed him," somebody in the crowd exclaimed. Others said similar things, but Abadon wasn't paying attention. She was looking at Uvek. He had the most peculiar expression on his face; barely contained satisfaction, poorly masked by forced sadness. In that second it clicked.

She pointed at Uvek, "You killed him!" Outrage erupted from the crowd. Okay so that was a stupid move on my part, she thought to herself.

"Wha—why would I kill him?" He was a poor actor, but nobody else seemed to notice.

"You were the last person to see him! The last to talk to him! You were the only person who knew I was coming to speak to him, so you killed him, knowing that they'd think it was me!" That was obviously what happened, by the look of shock on his face, but they must have just thought he was shocked by the accusation.

"Actually, I told him that you were coming to speak with him, so he could tell you," Irina said.

Somebody in the crowd said, "And I talked to him right before he came in here."

"Besides, I'm not good enough with a bow to hit that small a target," Uvek said, gesturing to the body, "Nobody is in the crew, except you," There were murmurs of agreement in the crowd.

Irina pointed at her and shouted, "Grab her!"

Suddenly she had people running at her left and right. She barely had time to pull out her bow and block before an Orc swung his great axe down on her. Irina told them not to kill her, just to knock her out. She kicked high and hit somebody in the head, knocking him down. Somebody else tripped over the body. She ran for the ever-growing dog pile and used them as steps to the sea of heads. Using her agility to avoid attacks and step on heads simultaneously, she reached the door and grabbed the frame, diving through feet first. She landed unsteadily and rolled down the stairs, just managing to get to her feet just as the crowd started pouring through the doorway. Exiting the room, she ran through the vast ship, passing some of the crew that hadn't been in the late Lywim's cabin. They soon joined the mob. Soon, Abadon made it to the deck, though she didn't know where to go from there; they were at least a mile away from any land.

She heard the footsteps closing in on her. They had boxed her in like a caged skeever: nowhere to go. She clenched her fists and turned around, ready to face whatever outcome this would bring.

They started pouring through the trapdoor, Irina and Uvek at the front. She held up her hands, "I surrender. I know when I've been beat." Irina walked over. She lifted her sword to knock her out. Abadon said one final thing, before the blow struck, "You're making a mistake."

A blunt pain. Then nothing.


End file.
